


Leech

by Coalmine301



Series: Whumptober 2020 [16]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Ancient Sith Rituals, Gen, Youth Stealing, black magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27036916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coalmine301/pseuds/Coalmine301
Summary: Alt title: "Cracking Open a Boy with the Cold Ones"
Relationships: 212th Attack Battalion & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Whumptober 2020 [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908538
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	Leech

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Whumptober prompt “Magical Healing”. 
> 
> Well, more like “Magical Harming” but eh, schematics

Age. It constantly hangs over Dooku’s head like a rusted chandelier, always threatening to break and come crashing down on his head.

As confident as he is in his abilities he knows his best days are long behind him and the long decline has begun. His knees ache more than usual, his joints refusing to bend the way they once did.

As a Sith he is no stranger to the darker emotions, fear among them. But that one in particular is almost a constant in his life as it feeds his steady growing paranoia. 

Dooku knows it wouldn’t be long before he outlives his usefulness and Sidious inevitably replaces him with someone else. Someone younger. 

Until one day the Count learns of an ancient Sith ritual. One said to reverse the natural aging and bring youth back to old bones.

It requires an unwilling sacrifice, as they all do, but this one is different. The sacrifice must be from the family, blood or otherwise, of the practitioner. And while Dooku doesn't know any blood relatives to his name he had made enough connections through the Jedi to fulfil the role beautifully. 

Almost immediately his grandpadawan springs to mind. Energetic, athletic, youthful, Obi-wan Kenobi is everything Dooku once was and wishes he were still. Not to mention easy to trap. It would be easy to capture and harvest from him.

And so Dooku carefully lays out his plan. Kenobi would be easy to lure in. All he needs is bait.

* * *

The plan worked perfectly. His grandpadawan was clever, but not clever enough to not go rushing headlong into an obvious ambush. Though given how close he and the toppers were Dooku supposed it was inevitable the fool attempted to rescue him anyway. 

No matter. The means are nothing in the face of the ends. And what glorious ends Dooku has his eye on.

Kenobi kneels before him, arms wrenched behind his back. It must hurt quite a bit, but Dooku knows with his bountiful youth Kenobi will bounce back as ever. Another pesky trait he so desires for himself.

The clones he’d been captured with are all secured in their own cells, separated from each other and their leader by burning scarlet ray shields. Even with a glance in their direction Dooku is met by glaring ochre eyes. Those eyes promise threats should the Count even lay a finger on their oh so beloved general. 

What fools these men are. Even if the shields were removed there is nothing they can do to the silver haired sith. Nothing they try can possibly stop him. 

But he wants them here. He wants to feel their rage and devastation. 

“Admiring the view, Count?” The redhead quips, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And I heard it is quite the view.” Always so very flirtatious, that one.

“Do you have a will, grandson?”

The question stops the redhead in his tracks, auburn brows briefly knitting together in confusion. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that. Nor the familial title Dooku had so casually tossed in. And at the latter he can see the clones exchange bewildered yet curious glances. 

“I mean, yeah…” he admitted cautiously. 

Dooku nodded solemnly at that. It was simply a fact of life now. The war could take anyone at any time, it was merely a probation that whatever few possessions a Jedi owned ended up in the right hands.

The Count nodded thoughtfully at that. “Good. That will make this easier, then.”

Kenobi quirks a copper eyebrow in silent question. Before he can voice it Dooku is already muttering ancient words in a language long forgotten.

“N̷e̸b̶o̷ ̸k̷h̴m̵u̷r̵o̷y̷e̴ ̸v̶n̷o̸v̸ʹ̸ ̸t̸e̸b̸y̴a̶ ̵y̵a̴v̵i̸l̴o̸  
̴G̷o̵y̶,̵ ̵t̵y̶,̸ ̷m̸l̶a̴d̷o̷y̴ ̴b̵o̴g̷!̷  
̷G̶o̶y̶,̵ ̴k̵ ̴t̴e̵b̷e̷ ̷v̸z̶y̴v̸a̶y̴e̸m̷!̴  
̴V̷ ̴s̷e̶r̷d̸t̶s̷e̴ ̷t̸s̶v̶e̴t̴n̴y̷a̷  
̵P̴e̸s̴n̶y̵u̴ ̷v̸o̸s̷p̸e̶v̸a̷y̶e̶m̵”

He holds out a weathered hand and Kenobi suddenly flies throat first into his grip. The clones give sharp cries at that but Dooku heeds them no mind. Instead, his fingers tighten astound his grand padawan’s pale neck. 

And still those ancient spells continued. 

“P̵o̶k̶a̴t̷i̵s̶y̷a̷,̸ ̵p̴o̷k̸a̷t̷i̵s̵y̷a̵  
̴D̸a̵ ̶g̵o̶n̷i̸ ̵t̶y̶ ̸k̶h̴m̶u̶r̶y̴ ̶t̸u̵c̸h̷i̵  
̴D̸a̷ ̶k̷ ̷S̷e̸m̷i̷ ̵K̵h̶o̴l̵m̶a̵m̵,̶ ̴k̵h̸·̶e̷y̷!̷  
̶D̸a̵ ̶k̷ ̶S̷e̷m̵i̴ ̷K̶h̵o̴l̶m̸a̸m̶ ̸m̶o̷g̵u̷c̵h̶i̷m̶”

By now dark tendrils crawled across Kenobi’s suddenly pale skin. He jerked in Dooku’s iron grasp, failing to escape them. 

“N̵e̷b̶o̷ ̴k̴h̵m̸u̶r̵o̸y̵e̸ ̴v̶n̵o̶v̵ʹ̶ ̶t̶e̸b̸y̸a̴ ̵y̴a̸v̴i̶l̸o̵  
̶G̴o̶y̸,̵ ̷t̷y̴,̴ ̶m̷l̸a̸d̴o̸y̵ ̴b̴o̷g̸!̵  
̴G̴o̴y̵,̷ ̷k̸ ̸t̶e̴b̸e̵ ̵v̷z̵y̷v̷a̴y̴e̴m̶!̸  
̷V̴ ̸s̶e̷r̵d̶t̷s̵e̸ ̵t̶s̵v̴e̶t̴n̵y̵a̶  
̵P̸e̶s̴n̵y̷u̶ ̶v̴o̶s̸p̶e̶v̶a̸y̵e̶m̷”

It started with a couple breathy gaps. Then a whimper. Then muffled cries. And then, finally, all out screams. 

And Dooku had never heard a noise so beautiful. 

Around him he can feel the invisible ghosts of Sith of the past. They watch him with eyes ranging from ochre to sulfur, yet identical in the cruel fascination they feel. Their presence in the Force is ice cold, but it warms Dooku’s dead heart and encourages him to go on.

Lime green energy traveled up Dooku’s withered arm, coursing through his veins like lifeblood. His shoulders broadened as his arms and chest filled out with muscle once more. His hair darkened into a deep raven black, not even his temples showing the slightest hint of silver. 

Dooku titles his head back, a vicious grin spreading across his now youthful features. 

In his grip Obi-wan rapidly withers as his youth is greedily drained away. Beautiful azure eyes grow cloudy and blind as cataracts conquer his sight. His skin wrinkles, grows ashen, before peeling away to leave nothing but bone behind.

Distantly he can hear the clones screaming at him to stop. Threats and pleads mix together in one desperate, wrathful din. 

But it is not enough and so Dooku goes further, further, further still. Kenobi’s bones grow soft and cracked, slowly being chipped away. Until the only thing left of the once great Jedi is a small pile of dust.

A soft breeze is all it took to scatter the hastily made pile. In the mere blink of an eye it erased all evidence of the once mighty Jedi Obi-wan Kenobi.

And Dooku had never felt more alive.

Obi-wan isn’t dead, not really. His corpse may have withered and disintegrated but his soul remains whole.

He can’t move, he can barely breathe. He’s not sure which way is up and which down. It’s almost frighteningly similar to some of the more horrific fighter crashes he’d been in. 

/What have you done?/

‘I have freed myself from the chains of senility,’ Dooku’s voice replied, echoing from all around him at once. ‘I have saved myself.’

/At the expense of another?/

‘It’s the Sith way,’ Dooku’s voice rumbled in response. The tone is casual as if it’s nothing more than a universally known truth. ‘You would do the same if you were me.’  
As if that justified anything.

But what’s done is done. And as much as he hated it there was absolutely nothing Obi-wan could do. 

Nothing except slowly rot away inside someone else’s mind.


End file.
